


Respect your elders

by epsilonfive



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Choking, Dirty Talk, Incest, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-15
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-14 07:12:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11203026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epsilonfive/pseuds/epsilonfive
Summary: Elliot learns he has a bit of a breathplay kink.





	Respect your elders

**Author's Note:**

> Literally just some Ellibot smut, because of self indulgence, as well as writing a quick thing for a friend which turned into an entire fic. Full of nasty dirty talk and references to incest. Enjoy :)

Elliot’s barely finished breathing out the smoke into Mr. Robot’s face before the world goes blurred as he’s shoved against the first available surface.

“At least let me finish this, old man,” he says with a cocky twitch of his lips, bringing the cigarette to his mouth once more. Before he can take a drag, it’s snatched away and tossed to the side. “Hey, asshole! I wanted– _uhf_!”

The air’s knocked out of him as an elbow pushes up sharply and presses against his throat.

“Jesus! what th– hrrg!” 

He’s cut off at the same time his air is, and at first his system goes into shock, limbs twitching and flailing slightly before he feels this odd sense of calm start to come over him.

Well, calm and something else.

“Is that any way to speak to your father, Elliot?” comes a voice from in front of Elliot’s vision, which is starting to go a little bleary. He’d dearly love to retort, but right now he’s not exactly in a position to do so.

It’s been quite a few seconds now, and the calm has evolved back into panic as Elliot’s been deprived of oxygen for more than a comfortable amount of time.

His fingers come up to scrabble at Mr. Robot’s arm.

“You ready to behave now, kiddo?”

Elliot tries to nod but can’t, instead patting Mr. Robot’s arm with one of his hands twice and hoping it’ll suffice as a ‘yes’.

Mr. Robot alleviates the pressure so that Elliot can breathe again, but there’s still a light force against Elliot’s windpipe.

He coughs a little, ready to throw a shit fit at this asshole, but before he can his pants start to feel uncomfortably tight.

Oh Jesus.

He didn’t just… get off to that, did he?

“You didn’t just get off to that, did you?” Mr. Robot says as though reading Elliot’s mind, which Elliot guessed he kind of did, considering he was a part of it. “You sick fuck.”

The smirk on Mr. Robot’s face makes Elliot want to put his fist through it, but Mr. Robot is already putting pressure back on Elliot’s neck, only gentler this time. A moment or two passes and a strangled sort of moan escapes from Elliot’s throat.

He wants to cover his face in shame, but he can’t, his arms pinned awkwardly under Mr. Robot’s own.

A small part of him tells Mr. Robot to–

“Stop? I don’t think so, son,” Mr. Robot says, in a voice that’s strangely gentle. “You know you want me to keep doing this. Which I can, all day, by the way.”

Elliot manages a slight shake of his head, and Mr. Robot tuts.

“No lies. Or you get punished.” as though demonstrating his point, Mr. Robot presses more harshly against Elliot’s throat, and because the boy can’t say it, he thinks it.

_Please, I’m sorry._

“Good boy.”

In reward, Mr. Robot both eases up with his elbow and reaches down with his other hand to rub small circles against the bulge in Elliot’s pants.

“Sh-shit–”

“Good boys get rewarded, you know that, don’t you Elliot?”

“God-- _uhn_ ,”

“Not quite, kiddo.”

If Elliot had even the slightest chance of freedom of movement he would have definitely punched Mr. Robot by now. That smug, self satisfied look on his face as he takes the referral to the deity as to himself is enough to make Elliot’s blood boil.

But Mr. Robot’s also pressing a little harder on Elliot’s dick and it’s kind of hard to focus on much else.

“Please--”

The last thing he wants to do is beg for Mr. Robot to give him any, even a little more stimulation, but thankfully he doesn’t have to, because Mr. Robot is snickering softly and undoing Elliot’s jeans to free his cock.

Elliot gasps as the tight discomfort evaporates and the cool air hits his skin, and Mr. Robot’s wolf like grin spreads impossibly further, almost from ear to ear.

Mr. Robot doesn’t touch him right away, and Elliot’s left sheepishly exposed and pinned awkwardly by his neck.

“What--”

“What do you want Elliot?”

“Huh?”

“What do you want? Tell me,”

“Hell no!”

“Then I won’t know, will I?”

“You know damn well what I want you fuck! You just want me to say it,”

“Exactly,”

Elliot groans and lets his head fall back slightly to hit the wall. 

“I.. want..”

“Eh? What’s that? Speak up, bucko,”

“I want you... to touch me,”

“Eh?”

“Jesus! Just touch my dick already!” Elliot says hotly, frustration overtaking his embarrassment.

“Of course, baby,” Mr. Robot says sweetly, reaching down and beginning to stroke Elliot in just the way he likes, swiping his thumb over the head every so often.

It takes a lot of willpower for Elliot not to cry out, and Mr. Robot must be thinking along the same lines because he puts pressure back on Elliot’s throat again. Either that or he wants Elliot to get off even more, because that simple movement makes a mewl die in the boy’s throat, suppressed by Mr. Robot’s elbow.

“That’s a good boy. You _are_ a good boy, aren’t you Elliot? Sweet boy,” Mr. Robot mumbles as he works Elliot’s cock at a perfect pace. In some deep, dark place, Elliot enjoys the praise, this kind specifically. He wonders why, until Mr. Robot thinks he can answer for him. “You like that because you want your dad to fuck you. You love his approval and affection and you felt things you shouldn’t have whenever he touched you or kissed your face... disgusting,”

Elliot wants to argue, wants to defend himself and say that he most definitely didn’t feel those things, but his father, or at least the form of him, talking to him like this... is only spurring him on. It feels good right in his very guts, only adding to the pleasure of getting jerked off.

“Filthy boy,” Mr. Robot hisses, pressing harder against Elliot’s windpipe, soft voice changing almost as quickly as a blink. “You’re loving this, aren’t you? Your dad touching you and choking you like the little freak you are,”

Usually this kind of talk gets to Elliot, no matter how many times he hears it. 

Usually it shakes him to the core and he feels like crying on the spot. 

But this time all it does is send bolts of pleasure through him to join the ones in his abdomen. 

“I’m--”

“Coming already, son?” Mr. Robot says with a sneer, shaking his head. “How sickening. Come on then, you nasty boy. Come for your old man.”

It’s a combination of the pressure on his neck, Mr. Robot’s perfect pace as he strokes Elliot’s dick and the words he speaks that cause Elliot to see spots dance in front of his eyes as he comes harder than he has in a long while, painting spots and strings on Mr. Robot’s hand and narrowly missing the fabled jacket.

“Watch it!” Mr. Robot says suddenly, pulling his hand away, and Elliot groans at the loss of contact. The least the son of a bitch could do was work him throughout the high. Asshole.

“Asshole,” Elliot gasps, voicing the thought and shaking, his hands gripping Mr. Robot’s arm which is still pinning him, but has released the pressure. “Not my fault you didn’t think of rolling your sleeve up,”

Mr. Robot snorts and releases Elliot, who finds no strength in his knees and sinks, quivering, to the floor. 

Mr. Robot wipes his hand on his pants leg and Elliot’s still weak from his orgasm so he barely has the ability to speak too coherently, let alone talk about how illogical it was that Mr. Robot was so against getting anything on his jacket then just spread it on his pants. Maybe it was something to do with the jacket itself, which Elliot had saved for all those years.

Come to think of it, Elliot didn’t want anything to stain it either. Or, as well, in his case.

He settles with waving a hand at Mr. Robot, who’s already moved away as if to go.

Mr. Robot turns back to look at him.

“Clean up, kiddo,” he says seriously, as though nothing had even happened. “We got work to do.”


End file.
